


I was a heavy heart to carry (but he never let me down)

by MacchiatoAmore



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Implied Nudity, Not Beta Read, Painting, Romance, bathtime, not quite fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacchiatoAmore/pseuds/MacchiatoAmore
Summary: Nights are always worse when you're waiting on your fella to come home.





	I was a heavy heart to carry (but he never let me down)

**Author's Note:**

> This started out inspired by 'To Be Alone With You' by Hozier and ended with 'Heavy In Your Arms' by Florence and the Machine. I'd say they both encapsulate the feel I was going for here.

Dull yellow lamplight skims the canvas, muddying the once-rich reds and blues, casting shadows where there shouldn’t be, and you sigh low and heavy, hands flying to re-tie up your hair when a loose strand brushes against the nape of your neck. The house is heavy, thick with her frustration and that sweet Los Angeles fog, and the heat just keeps crawling up despite the constantly humming, occasionally chocking, air conditioner. Of course the useless thing would be just about ready to heave its last, dying breath while you’re alone. Of course it would be.  
You slide from the scarred wooden stool, stumbling as your tingling legs swiftly regain feeling, a buzzing in your legs that seems to travel straight to your head as you lean against the wall for a moment. How late is it again? You clear your throat and slink from your studio, quietly shutting the door behind you even as you tell yourself that no one’s here to disturb with yet another late-night painting session. Old habits, man.

  
You peer into Dan’s empty recording studio, your eyes trailing over microphones and equipment you’re not familiar with in the slightest. Your fingers itch to linger on knobs and drift across the computer keyboard, simply because he touched them at some point before he left; he’ll be home soon—hours yet, not days anymore—and perhaps he’ll bring your inspiration back with you. Not likely, it’s been mysteriously absent for a year or more, but there’s always hope.

Another door shut behind you, emptiness a yawning maw at your back as you saunter a little quicker towards the dimmed living room light. Even the bright white room and furniture are lackluster tonight. You tap the dimmer switch to turn everything off and head towards the bathroom, ready to scrub the dried acrylic from the tops of your thighs and forearms; there’s nothing like losing yourself in your art, you ache for it almost as much as you ache for the arms of the man you’re waiting on, but lately you’ve been coming away feeling barren and unsatisfied.  
Well-used and untapped.

Dirty.

The huge shower is lovely, filled with a duo of body washes and shaving creams, shampoos and conditioners, but it’s not calling your name tonight; instead you pull a softly scented, pearlescent bubble bath and unceremoniously dump half of it beneath the spigot of hot running water. After the pillar candles are lit to stand in for the overhead light, you stand in front of the mirror and take a brush to your hair to create a more manageable bun. The candlelight glow is kinder than even the lamplight was, gently illuminating your sweaty skin, licking at your curves, even the paint stains are more enticing this way.

Maybe that’s what you’re missing: the correct lighting.

You slowly strip out of the black tank top and boyshorts you worked in, admiring each new bit of skin as it’s revealed: every stretch mark, scar, and pock of cellulite or loose skin carried you to where you are now, why should they be revered any less than your lovely eyes or your sweet, soft mouth? By the time you’re sinking into the bubbly, steaming water, you can barely keep your eyes open; it’s the calmest you’ve felt since he left, taking all the beauty in this shell of a home with him.

Halfway between here and dreamland, your brain registers quiet scuffling and the firm snick of the front door shutting. Your arm dangles languidly out of the tub and you turn your face towards the opened door, the sight of your scant articles of clothing strewn like an invitation in the doorway enough to elicit a low, soft giggle, and you listen for as heavy footfalls creep towards the door. He stops in the frame, head tilted like a puppy, leaning against the jamb to watch as you take him in; all of his clothes look like they’re on their last legs, the man was definitely going for comfort for the flight home. If you’re honest, he doesn’t look much better, but those sparkling brown eyes are all you’ve hoped for over the last several days. Slowly, you turn over your exposed palm and make the laziest ‘come hither’ gesture your fingers can manage.

He strips efficiently, too tired to take his time, and teeters on baby deer legs as he gingerly steps into the water. His body finds its place against yours, his face cuddled into the crook of your neck as he carefully drapes his body along yours. You find a spare rubber band on the corner of the tub and begin the delicate process of tying up his limp brown curls without snagging them while he sighs against your skin, folding his arms in the space between your back and the bottom of the tub.

“You’re not dead yet, old man,” you murmur against his stubbly cheek, trailing your hands down his back.

“Mhh, not yet baby, but looking at you like this just fuckin’…just about did it.”

“Like what? A sweaty mess?”

“Pfft. You’re goddamn…you’re perfect, babe. You’re perfect.”

“That’s original, Daniel.”

“D’you wanna know how much time I’ve spent on planes and in cars and shit trying to get home to you?”

“Nah…I’m just glad you’re home.”

“Me, too. I didn’t know you were gonna surprise me with a bath, babe, I’d have tried to be more…I dunno. Something.”

“Hmmm,” you smile against his neck, trying to tug him closer. The flecks of paint still clinging to your skin spark crimson once more before your nail scrapes them away. It seems the heaviness of the night has settled into your arms, but this weight is manageable. This weight is paradise.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a whole lotta...something. I've been experimenting with my writing style lately, decided to try this on for size.


End file.
